


The Wolf Gets a Christmas Wish Too

by Dogsled



Category: due South
Genre: Christmas Smut, Comfort No Hurt, DSSS Treat, Fever Dreams, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Sick Character, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a Christmas Carol. Sick and alone on Christmas Eve, Ray is visited by the Angel of the Great Northwestern Yukon or whatever, and takes a trip through his fever dreams to a new understanding of his relationship with Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf Gets a Christmas Wish Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mergatrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/gifts), [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/gifts), [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/gifts).



Ray was sick.

Not the kind of sick that normal people were supposed to be. Normal people - that was, people that didn't spend their childhood shunned for being dreadful at sport and wearing clothes that would look large on a full grown adult - were generally exposed to chickenpox long before the age of thirty-five.

Not Stanley Kowalski. No; no, between the clothes, the stutter and his enormous glasses, the process of growing up hadn't been kind to him. Of course he'd eventually grown into all those clothes just like his mother had insisted he would, but it didn't do him much good until then.

So no chickenpox--that was until late last week, when he and Fraser stepped in to save a wobbly looking child being tugged along by his escaped convict of a father. As Fraser set off after the criminal, Ray was left to catch the fainting kid, who turned out to be feverish and covered in open sores.

Fraser, of course, was fine. Apparently they had varicella in the Greater North Yukon or wherever, and he'd already been exposed to the virus. Ray on the other hand, wasn't aware of his weakness until - feeling peaky - he passed out a few days later and almost caused a head on collision.

He had it bad. He was sent home despite his efforts to convince the L.T. that he could do his job, and that... Well that had led to the worst Christmas fortnight of his life.

Ray _liked_ work. In fact he was one of the few people in the world, he thought, who genuinely enjoyed working through a holiday, because then he didn't have to think about Christmas spirit and joy and roast beasts and all the things that - as a freshly divorced single cop - he was sorely missing out on. He pleaded with Welsh to let him stay--for all the good it did him. He even - pale and bleary eyed - threw himself at Meg Thatcher's feet and begged her to give him a temporary commission so that he could work for Canada over the holidays. No luck there, either. 

The thing was, he'd spent _most_ of his Christmases _with_ Stella working. Now he was single it had seemed almost more imperative to work himself to the bone through the season to keep his mind off the things he'd be doing if he still had someone he loved to spend that time with: decorating the tree; hanging mistletoe with the express purpose of actually kissing someone under it; going out to buy a gift for someone he cared about. There was Fraser, of course, but... Well, Fraser was Fraser. He seemed quite at home with all that loner stuff anyway.

That wasn't for Ray. Ray found it dreadful. He found it demoralizing. As he sat at home sick, dosed up on antibiotics and painkillers and drinking water from a sippy cup (in his quiet, dark, undecorated apartment, while outside it snowed like all the precipitation in the northern hemisphere had decided to dump itself on Chicago in one go) all he could think of was how horribly _lonely_ he was.

In the end he couldn't even drink - doctor's orders - so Christmas Eve wasn't even its usual mess of driving himself to near unconsciousness so that the endless sleigh bells, variations on A Christmas Carol and seasonal specials on television blurred into incomprehensible noise. No, the good cheer was insipid, and it was all Ray had to keep him company, lying weak on his back on the couch, drowning himself in his own terrible, _sober_ misery.

He was half asleep, delirious, when the knock on the door came.

"Unnnghwaaaay."

A little pause, and a whining noise, and the low sound of Fraser's voice hummed through the door.

"Sszat you, Fraysahh?" Ray groaned into his pillow, trying to turn over.

"Well, yes, Ray. Can I come in?"

Ray considered this for a moment, and made a sort of mmmph noise. "Can't get up," he said, a little more coherently.

Fraser didn't make a sound for a moment and Ray finished rolling over, looking up bleakly at the closed door. "Mmmm," he said again, contemplating just how much energy it would need for him to get up on his feet. Seemed like way too much.

At last Fraser said "Do you mind if I open it myself?"

Ray narrowed his eyes. "You mean break in?"

"I--"

"You're going to break into my apartment?" Ray was more awake now, even managing to get an elbow under himself.

"With your permission, Ray."

"I don't know, Fraser. That seems like it could be dangerous. Letting strangers into my apartment..."

"I'm not a stranger, Ray."

"No, but you are strange, Fraser. Alright, hang on, I'm up already." 

Ray staggered upright, his head swam horribly, and then he set off for the door, managing to get it open before the floor came up to meet him. Fraser was ready for that, sweeping his arms around him to catch him. Ray was vaguely aware of them being strong arms, and yet also remembered that strength from other occasions where he'd been grabbed and rescued like some tafeta clad damsel in distress.

Fraser heaved him up higher, until Ray's head knocked against his partner's shoulder, embracing him with a gust of familiar Mountie scent. Then he was being carried gently away across the room, laid back out on the sofa with so much care that Ray felt like he was just a little boy again, being helped back to bed by his mother.

There was movement - distracting, but not enough to pay attention to with the fog in his head - and then Fraser's face bobbed into view, followed by Fraser's hand laying a moist towel across his temple, dabbing away at the heat and sweat and making everything begin to feel instantly better.

Better, better...better.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but on waking the apartment smelled amazing, and there was a wolf curled up on his feet to keep them warm. Fraser turned out to be the source of the wonderful smell--so no surprise there. He pulled up a chair beside him and set a tray on Ray's chest, where steam rose up in delightful aromatic wisps from the top of a bowl of home made chicken soup.

The fact that he hadn't eaten in at least a day only went into making it seem all the more heavenly.

"Fraser," Ray said, blearily. "'M I gonna die?"

"No, I don't think so." Fraser tapped the extra chicken soup off the spoon, then blew on it to take away some of the heat. Helplessly, Ray accepted the mouthful, and instantly felt warmth and love pouring out from wherever the soup went. He'd probably had nicer meals in his life, but right now Fraser's chicken soup was an incomparable liquid ambrosia. It didn't get any better than this.

Ray didn't struggle to get up. He knew when he was beaten, and besides: even if Fraser _was_ confident that Ray wasn't dying, Ray didn't necessarily feel the same way. He felt completely dreadful, actually. This wasn't chickenpox, it was the bubonic plague. There was no known cure.

He let Fraser feed him chicken soup until he felt warm through--until he felt loved and a little bit less sick. He exhaled gently as the meal was finished, leaning slightly up to accept a sip from his cup of water, then nestled back into his cushions and things. Fraser dabbed his forehead again, then - curiously - stroked his thumb in a circle just behind his left eye.

"What is it? Is there something on my face?"

"Oh--oh no, Ray. It's nothing."

Ray shrugged, tilting his head to one side. "Is it Christmas yet?"

"Not yet, no. You slept for three hours--that is, long enough for me to fetch ingredients for soup. I hope you don't mind, I borrowed your car."

He should be especially mad about that, but the chicken soup was so good...maybe Fraser had drugged him into compliance with it. "Oh yeah? You bring her back in one piece?"

"Well I'm afraid I might have scratched the paintwork..."

Ray jolted, and Fraser pinned him down surprisingly hard. Or maybe he was just too weak to put much effort into it, and it only felt like Fraser was being rough. "You-- What-- Fraser!"

Fraser looked smug and didn't let him go, and Ray struggled for a moment longer, then paused and fell still. "You're messing with me. You're actually-- You're actually messing with me. I could be dying, and now you decide to grow a sense of humor."

Fraser's eyes danced, and he drew his hands back, clipping his thumbs into his jean pockets as he surveyed Ray. It was weird to be looked over like that. A lot about tonight was weird. A weird Christmas Eve thing.

Ray yawned. "You should sleep here."

"I was planning to."

Ray sniffed, like he was totally innocent, and the suggestion had absolutely nothing to do with his feeling sick and lonely. "Well good. Oh and...and can you feed my turtle?"

"I can do that. Would you like me to help you to bed?"

"No--no, I'm good here." 

Fraser nodded, then reached over to lay the damp cloth on Ray's forehead. "I'll be here. Just call out if you need anything." Then Fraser gave one of his incomprehensible thoughtful smiles, and let him drift off to sleep.

Ray awoke feeling weirder than he had earlier. The room was dark, Fraser was nowhere to be seen, and Diefenbaker was sat up on the end of the couch looking straight at him. A window was open, and snow was blowing in from outside, making the curtains dance about. That was strange too--why would Fraser leave the window open when he was sick?

But everything was fine. Just fine. Until Diefenbaker opened his mouth and spoke.

"Hello Ray."

Ray blinked twice and sat up, pulling his blankets a little higher. He looked around for Fraser, raised his voice to call for him. "Fraser! Hey Fraser!"

Diefenbaker looked back at him stonily.

"What? _Fraser!_ "

"He can't hear you. This is a dream."

Ray squinted. "You sure?"

"I'm a talking wolf."

Ray shook his head. Made sense, actually. Unless this was some sort of spirit animal thing. Maybe it was a fever dream.

"It's Christmas, Ray. You know what that means, don't you?"

"Uh--football?"

Diefenbaker rolled his eyes. "No. Christmas is about terrible, gimmicky reproductions of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, each more unusual and unlikely than the last."

Ray sat up sharply, pulling his knees toward his chest. "No, no way! I'm not gonna do this. Go give Fraser a walk down memory lane, I don't wanna see."

"Fraser isn't the one having a fever dream."

He didn't even get to appreciate being right. Instead Ray scowled and kicked at the wolf. "Get down. Bad wolf!"

Diefenbaker was having none of it. He leant forward suddenly and licked Ray on the nose, making him grimace and close his eyes. When Ray opened them again he was back in the apartment he'd once shared with Stella--their gorgeous apartment on the water. It was all decorated with tinsel and lights, and Stella was there, six or seven years younger, stunningly beautiful, successful, happy.

At least that was how he remembered her. The truth was very different. The truth was that six or seven years ago was also about when things started to go downhill. Ray remembered this conversation. He didn't need to hear it again.

Stella was at the table studying a case. There were documents and files open everywhere on the table, despite the fact that it had clearly been set for a dinner that hadn't happened some time ago. The clock said that it was past ten, and sure enough in came Ray looking exhausted, his big brown coat soaked and smeared with mud, blood on the collar from a fistfight he'd gotten into, a bruise coming up over his left eye. Christmas Day was always rough like that.

Stella barely glanced up at him. Ray made the trip into the bedroom, shedding his ruined clothes and tossing them down on the way. Of course the real Ray was able to watch Stella throughout this, her nose crinkling up in distaste, her hand tightening around the pen she was holding.

"Ray!" she called.

"Yeah. Yeah just hang on. Hang on, alright."

"Ray, it's--never mind." She scowled, shook her head, and the real Ray just frowned. He hadn't been watching. He hadn't even noticed the signs.

"The day I had, you've got no idea," said Ray, as he came back in, crossing to peck Stella on the cheek and then sweeping past her for the kitchen. He came back with a bag of peas pressed to his face.

"Christmas Day," said Stella.

"Yeah. I tell you, the crazies that come out on Christmas..."

"Ray, you said you'd be back. You were going to make us some sort of romantic meal. You asked me to set the table."

"Oh. Oh yeah. Yeah, I did." Ray stopped, looking puzzled at the table. It didn't look like it really had been set, not with all of Stella's papers laid out all over the place. "So this is uh... You must be pretty hungry by now."

"I ate the leftover salad from yesterday."

Ray fidgeted on the spot for a second, and the real Ray grimaced, looking at the wolf sitting by his feet. "Can we just skip the past bit? I want to see the present stuff already."

Dream Ray sat down at the table, looking across it at Stella like a lost puppy dog. Obviously he had nothing clever to say in reply. Any plans he'd had no doubt had gone up in smoke with Ray working so hard to prove that his promotion to detective had been worth it.

But dream Ray was a lovesick idiot, and he said "Did you think any more about what I said yesterday?"

"About how great you think it would be to have kids to share Christmas with?" Stella looked across the table, exasperated. It was a look Ray would become more and more used to as the years passed and the arguments spiraled toward their inevitable conclusion. "Ray, you aren't even around to share Christmas with _me_."

"It won't always be like this."

"Won't it? No, I guess not, because one day you'll catch a bullet rather than a black eye. Some Christmas _that_ will be."

Ray looked stricken. Real Ray wasn't faring much better. He felt really green, actually. "You mean you don't want kids, or you don't want to be married to a cop?"

"Maybe both," Stella snapped, on the spur of the moment. It was the truth; the first time she'd ever admitted it, but not the last. Ray hadn't known it at the time. 

"No," she amended, quickly. "No, I don't mean that. It's just this case--and you... I thought today was going to be special, but it's just another day. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Dream Ray sighed, and circled the table, placing his hand on hers to close the book. "You want to dance? Maybe we can go out on the pier and eat ice cream."

"Ray," Stella laughed. "It's forty degrees out there!"

"It's never too cold for ice cream. Come on--"

And that was it. Ray was sitting on his couch with a wet face and Diefenbaker was sitting up next to him. "Was that so bad?" asked the wolf.

"Yeah. Yeah. Look, there's a reason the past is in the past. What good does dredging all that up do me, anyway?" Diefenbaker shrugged. "This is all really charming and Christmassy but I don't like any of this Victorian morality nonsense. I just want to have a nice, dreamless sleep and wake up on my own couch. Is that so much to ask?"

Diefenbaker licked him on the nose. Crap, not again.

It was today. Actually today, Christmas Eve, and they were nowhere near Ray sulking in his apartment and slowly dying - or so he felt - from chickenpox. Instead they were at the consulate, and Fraser was sitting at his desk with Diefenbaker underneath it and a whole stack of old books Ray recognized as being Bob Fraser's journals neatly towered beside him. 

Fraser was reading to himself--that was until there was a peel of laughter outside and the door burst open. Thatcher was there in a low cut black dress looking jubilant and a little sozzled. She was hanging on the arm of a big buff man with black hair plastered to his forehead, and as she swung off him he was pulled into view past the frame of the door.

"The Ambassador--" She hiccuped, "is taking me to a Christmas party." She hiccuped again. "Would you like to come? No, no of course not. Mmno. You have work to do--" Hiccup. "I'm sure, and besides--besides, you don't like to just have fun. You must find this whole Christmas thing so...so very tiring. Don't you, Constable. Well!" And then she burst into giggles and swept her Ambassador away.

"Good riddance," Ray growled. He liked Thatcher, generally speaking. She was hot, in an unattainable, terrifying way. But he didn't like what he'd just seen. "Does that happen often?" he asked the wolf.

"All the time," replied Diefenbaker, and did that if wolves could shrug thing again. "He doesn't seem to mind, but..."

Fraser watched the door for several seconds after she left, his lips curling into that sad, bemused sort of melancholy that Ray had a hard time understanding. Then he looked back at his books and read aloud.

"Ah, here's something: _Today is Christmas Day. I stacked enough wood inside the cabin to last us until New Years in advance of the impending snowstorm. This will be Ben's first Christmas, not that he's aware of its significance. He is content to sleep unruly hours and wake us long after the fire has been laid low for the night, and seems to thrive on a cycle that neither Caroline nor I have as of yet been able to predict._

_"The cabin has been decorated with branches of spruce and holly, and a paper chain Caroline made out of old newspaper, which is surprisingly festive so long as you don't read the text too closely. She doesn't know it yet, but tonight we'll have roast turkey. Buck hacked it all the way back from Yellowknife for us, and I know she'll be delighted._

_"It'll be enough for me to be able to spend Christmas with the woman I love._ "

Fraser fell silent for a moment, then closed the book, steepling his hands in front of him, fingers pressed firmly together. Ray looked down at him, then back at Diefenbaker, who padded over to his master and sniffed at his hand. The wolf looked back at his dreaming companion.

"You've seen that look before, haven't you? He's lonely too, not that he'd ever admit it. Not even to himself."

Ray frowned. "But what's that got to do with me? I mean--I already know I'm not the only person in the world who'll be spending Christmas alone."

"He's your partner," the wolf answered sagely. "His happiness is your happiness. You need each other, like a pack."

Now it was Ray's turn to shrug, and pretend that he didn't get it, when all along he was staring miserably down at his partner and his - for the moment - two wolves. A pack? It definitely felt like that sometimes. 

Still, it wasn't where he expected his life to go. He envied Bob Fraser in the story, with his little baby waiting at home and his lovely wife. There was a simplicity to it that he desperately wanted. Fraser didn't have that either, though; no more family left, nowhere to go for Christmas. At least Ray could call his parents, maybe even drive across the country to see them if he wanted. Fraser had no one; nobody but Ray, who'd been so caught up in his own misery and sickness that he hadn't even asked if Fraser wanted to spend Christmas with him.

If only he hadn't gotten sick. He could have been working, and then just like last year Fraser would have been there with him, absolutely no question about it. 

"So what's next? Is this all about me and Fraser, or are we gonna see some other people?"

"It's all about you and Fraser. It always has been and always will be."

That was a weird, enigmatic thing to say. Ray didn't quite know what to do with it, but then the scene was changing anyway, and he was back in his own apartment, watching himself on the couch squirming fitfully in his sleep, sweat dripping off him. The blankets had begun to tangle and fall off him, and as he watched, sleeping Ray kicked out and sent poor Diefenbaker jumping away in fright.

Fraser came quickly, carrying a dusty box which he set down on the table before dashing to Ray's side. A garland of tinsel hung out the open corner--his old Christmas decorations, untouched since the divorce.

But Ray wasn't paying attention to those. Instead he watched as Fraser crouched beside him, quickly dropping the towel into the ice water beside him and squeezing it out, before wiping down his damp, hot forehead.

"Ray. Ray, it's going to be alright. Shh..."

"Mn..." said sleeping Ray. "Mmph--rayzer... Don't wanna see...see-the..."

"Shh, Ray, it's okay."

Fraser's face was twisted up into worry. Ray had never seen anything quite like it. He looked positively sick with concern, pale and biting his lip as he pulled the blankets back over Ray. The struggling had stopped now, but Ray still thought he looked like he was dying. His sleeping self fell more still, and his breathing steadied into sleep, and then Fraser did something Ray didn't expect--he leaned in and brushed a kiss to his temple.

The real Ray breathed in sharply.

"What--Fraser, what the hell are you--" He shook his head. "No, he can't hear me, can he?" 

Diefenbaker looked up at him. "Come on, we don't have much time."

"But--" Ray hovered over dream Fraser, frowning. Fraser had kissed him. Okay, so he'd only kissed him on the forehead but it was a kiss. A kiss from his best friend, his partner. He needed to know what it meant.

Diefenbaker barked at him, and Ray scowled, took just a half step back, and was suddenly swept up in a riot of noise.

"Down on the ground! Down!"

There were three guys in ski masks, the sound of gunfire, and Ray ducked, immediately on alert. Sure, it was a dream, but it was all more than realistic enough. He looked around for himself, and there, crouched down beside the cashier's desk next to a rattled looking bank clerk, was dream Ray.

"Stay down and nobody else will get hurt," shouted one of the robbers.

Nobody else? Ray scanned the room, quickly spotting the guy on the floor bleeding from a wound to his shoulder. Plaster had fallen in clumps from the ceiling, and an alarm was going off, pounding loud in everyone's ears.

"Turn that off! Hey, hey, you know how to turn it off?" A guy was jamming the end of his gun into a woman's neck, urging her to her feet. "Turn it off."

The Ray on the floor - a little gray around the edges, but otherwise unmistakeable - reached into his jacket and pulled out his glasses, putting them on and scanning the room. There were three guys. He could take three guys. 

Real Ray looked back at Diefenbaker, rattled. "Wait--wait, is this the future one? I know this part of the story. This is the one where you show me how I die and like--how nobody loves me and stuff, right?"

Diefenbaker shook his head. "You're not unloved. You're a beloved son, and you're going to die a hero, here, in this bank--at age forty-two."

Ray chewed his lip, watching his older self fumble with his gun and count seconds in his head.

"Where's Fraser?"

"You aren't partners any more. After the real Ray Vecchio came back, you went back to the Sixteen, and Fraser returned home to Canada."

"He hasn't seen the guy in the back," Ray said, anxiously. His other self was watching the three guys he'd seen, but not the fourth gunman prowling over by the windows. Ray bounced on his feet, looking back and forth. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to watch himself die.

But dream Ray kept counting, and he bobbed his shoulders as he psyched himself up for the rush. One - two - three. One two three. He could do this.

"Chicago PD!" dream Ray yelled.

Up he went, shot the first guy, swung his arm round, shot the second guy. The third lined up on him and he jumped clear, threw up his arm and clocked the third guy in the shoulder.

The dust settled, the sound of the shots ringing in his ears, and then dream Ray turned around very slowly, and stared right at the final gunman - who stared right back - and emptied two rounds of shotgun pellets into Ray's chest. After that there was only white noise and more white noise, and his dream self falling slowly to the ground, felled like a tree, blood everywhere.

The white noise turned to actual white, and then there was snow whipping in his face, cold and bitter. His ears hurt, his face stung, and he was frozen through within moments.

"Ray?"

Okay, that was weird. Fraser was talking to him. Old Fraser, actually, because sure enough coming through the snowstorm was a grizzled old Mountie with snow white hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky. Even old - his skin weathered and beaten by the rough winter winds and bright polar sunlight - Fraser was beautiful. _Beautiful._

"Ray!" Fraser shouted, right in his face.

"I'm here!" Ray shouted back.

"He can't hear you," Diefenbaker said.

"But he's calling me," protested Ray.

"Not you." Diefenbaker waved his paw into the storm, and a great big husky came galloping out of the blizzard. The husky yipped and chatted, and Fraser jammed his hand into his pocket and found a morsel of pemmican to throw down. Ray the husky gobbled it up, then paused, looking away into the wind, then dropping into a low growl.

"What is it?"

Ray the husky growled again, and Fraser pulled his rifle down off his back, deliberately knocking his hat up so that he could squint through the oncoming snow.

Fraser tightened his hand on the grip. "I can smell him too," he told the husky. "Coming down from upwind--he wants us to know he's there."

There was a deep yawing growl, one even Ray would recognize immediately. The grizzly emerged from the snow just a moment later, leaping at Fraser, who let off his gun too low and shot a hole in the bear's left shoulder. The Mountie went down, and then Ray the husky jumped in to try and rescue him, teeth flashing at the bear's muzzle, and only managing to draw a little blood before he too was thrown aside like a rag doll.

"No!" Ray shouted, helplessly. "No, get off him! Get..."

It was over so quickly, and then Ray was sinking down into the blood streaked snow, heartbroken, covering his eyes to keep from looking at the carnage around him. 

Diefenbaker nudged into his side, comforting. "It's okay. It hasn't happened yet, and besides, this is the life he chose. This is his home. It's just dangerous to be out here alone; that's why they call it the wilderness."

Ray sniffed, scrubbing his face against his arm. "Can we go home now? I want to go home."

Diefenbaker licked at his cheek, and then Ray was waking up on his couch, with Diefenbaker licking his cheek and light streaking in through the blinds. Snow was still falling outside, but inside was warm and smelled pleasant. The room had been decorated with all of the garlands and things from Ray's old box, but also branches and pieces of holly and mistletoe that Fraser must have brought in from outside. The apartment looked wonderful, and Ray felt immensely better.

Only when Fraser came in with a tray of food did Ray realize just how much better he felt. His appetite was back, his mood had improved, and all he could think of was the dreadful dream he'd been having, and that kiss... Had he dreamed that kiss?

"Hey Fraser," he sat up slowly, and miraculously his brain didn't spin out of his head. "You decorated."

"Oh--oh, it's not much."

"It's pretty," Ray said, and smiled, and amazingly Fraser smiled right back.

"I brought you breakfast. Your fever didn't break until three in the morning--I thought I might have to drive you to hospital."

"But I'm okay now," Ray said. "You looked after me."

Fraser blushed, and Ray knew instantly that he hadn't been imagining it. Fraser really had kissed him last night. And if Fraser had kissed him, then maybe all that other stuff was true too, the bank, and the bear, and Ray the dog rather than Ray the man...

Fraser put the tray down on Ray's lap, and Ray looked everything over. it looked good, and his stomach rumbled just in case he wasn't alredy aware of how hungry he was.

Meanwhile Diefenbaker whined and went over to the door, and Ray glanced up at Fraser. "Hey, go ahead. I'm not going anywhere."

"Alright," Fraser said, and pulled himself upright. "I won't be long."

Ray took his time with his breakfast, and by the time Fraser got back he'd dragged himself off his sweat drenched couch and wobbled his way to the shower. He came out damp, his hair stuck up in odd directions, and feeling infinitely more alive than he had for days. Fraser was blushing and straightening up the living room, and didn't look at Ray at all--so Ray walked over to the front door and stood under the mistletoe, a draft blowing about his ankles, and coughed.

"Hey Fraser."

Fraser stood up, and looked right at him. "Yes, Ray."

"Would you come over here?"

"What is it?" Fraser said, and came cautiously closer.

One two three, Ray counted in his head. This was harder than facing down a room full of bank robbers. Just a little kiss. That couldn't be so hard. Just a little kiss with a man, with his best friend, with a Mountie who it turned out Ray liked quite a lot, even thought _beautiful_. And he _was_ \--right now flushed and wearing a silly Christmas jumper with a big reindeer on the front, Fraser looked stunning. Very, very kissable.

So he psyched himself up, and when Fraser was close enough, Ray wrapped his arms around him and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. The kiss was slow, and tender, lasted more than five seconds but less than a twenty - maybe - and after Fraser's initial surprise, the reciprocation was welcome. Fraser's tongue lashed around his own, his mouth hot and wet, his lips as soft as powder blush snow. Ray tugged him closer by the hips, then groaned as Fraser took advantage, slamming him in turn back against the front door.

He was panting into Fraser's mouth by the time the kiss broke, his head spinning again--but this time in a good way. He held on to Fraser for dear life, and Fraser steadied him with the door until Ray was able to get his feet under himself again.

"Mmm--" Incoherent again. Incoherent was good.

"Where did that come from?" Fraser murmured, and he sounded easily as out of breath as Ray was. Hah, so much for increased lung capacity.

"Christmas wish," Ray said. "And mistletoe, obviously. How'd you end up here, anyway?"

"I had a dream that you needed me."

"You had a dream? That's weird, bud, even for you."

Fraser rolled his eyes, and then Ray pressed in and kissed him again. 

"Do I get a Christmas wish now?" Fraser asked, as they broke apart.

"I sort of figured that one was for both of us," Ray groused, halfheartedly. Fraser's hands had come down off the door, and now his fingers were working warm down the flat of his back, dipping under the edge of the towel and peeling it away. As his towel hit the floor, Ray shivered. "I guess you can have another wish."

"Mmm," mimicked Fraser, and pressed him against the door again, the plushy red nose of his reindeer bumping against Ray's chest as they embraced.

"Yeah," Ray whispered, between kisses, and then he was grabbing at the bottom edge of Fraser's jumper, hauling it over his head, and stumbling as he was half led, half carried across the living room. "Yeah, bed. Good idea."

He held on tight, Fraser saving him from tripping over his feet until they swung across into the bedroom. Then it was Ray's turn to take control. He dug his toes into the rug and gave Fraser a hard push so that they both went flying onto the bed. Deprived of abuse for so long, the springs screamed their complaint, but held, and Ray twisted one of his arms up, stroking it across Fraser's cheek and driving back into the kiss all over again.

Unexpectedly, Fraser returned the favor by squeezing Ray's ass with both hands...

...Which was new.

"Fraser!" he gasped, pushing up off him, sitting up and looking as scandalized as he could. Fraser honestly just looked smug, eyebrows raised, lying flat on his back in way more clothes than was fair, considering Ray's own state of undress. Wet water concealed absolutely nothing. Seriously, he was completely naked up here; no wonder Fraser looked flushed and happy.

It was unfair. Well, more than unfair, since now Fraser pressed his advantage, letting go one of the hands on Ray's ass to instead curl it around the base of his stirring arousal. Ray buckled forward protectively, and groaned as Fraser stroked upward with his firm, calloused Mountie grip.

"Nngh--not fair."

Fraser squeezed, and Ray shuddered, helpless to his partner's eager ministrations. It really _wasn't_ very fair, actually. Fraser needed less clothes on so that Ray could maybe have a chance to get his own back. Besides, now that he was aware of his longing, he suddenly had no idea how he'd kept his hands off Fraser's chest all this time. He was hard under his shirt, like cotton stretched over steel, impossibly warm when Ray managed to get his hands under the edge and push upwards.

Fraser helped, and sure enough when he'd stripped off the Henley Fraser insisted on wearing, he'd exposed something like sheer muscular perfection. He looked like some sort of Canadian Adonis.

Ray smirked. "You've been holding out on me, Fraze."

Licking his lips, Fraser squirmed on the bed underneath him, which Ray read as anticipation--not that he could figure why. Fraser already a hand on him, and it wasn't like he'd even gotten him out of those brutally tight jeans yet.

But then Ray placed his hand on the center of Fraser's chest, and immediately _got it_. Everything that wasn't exposed on Fraser everyday was some sort of magic erogenous zone. It made him seem like he'd never been touched before, which Ray knew wasn't true, but at the same time... Well, was Fraser ever naked for longer than it took for him to shower? Had he ever touched himself? _Ever_?

It seemed rude to ask, so Ray kept his concerns to himself. Besides, Fraser convulsed like he was being electrocuted with every touch, and Ray was enjoying playing him like some sort of human Mountie harp. When he ran the flats of his palms across Fraser's nipples, they were as hard as pebbles, and so sensitive that Fraser _whimpered_ , forgetting himself.

Ray couldn't forget him. This was maybe the most incredible thing he'd ever witnessed, and besides which he was in complete control of Fraser's responses for the first time in their entire partnership--the opportunity couldn't be squandered.

Well, almost in control. When his thumbnail flicked against one of those rock hard nipples, Fraser bit down on his lower lip and tightened his grip about Ray's cock firmly. In turn, Ray buckled, curling over Fraser's chest. His wet hair dripped a fine rivulet of water down the washboard rapids of Fraser's abs, which Ray first panted against, then - prompted by Fraser's moan - lapped up with the flat of his tongue.

That made Fraser lose his focus, and up came those rough hands to dig into Ray's hair. He might have put up more of a fuss if Fraser's kneading didn't actually feel pretty good, and now it was Ray's turn to moan. And protest: "God Fraser, if you do that I'm not gonna last."

"Your hair?" Fraser gurgled, underneath him.

"Yeah--ungh. Yeah well, I don't usually let anyone touch it."

Fraser was stroking rhythmically now, and Ray felt like he was going to fall apart, angling his head into his partner's hand. This was a recipe for disaster, right? It was like he'd just given away a deep and significant weakness, which Fraser would most certainly take advantage of at some point.

Just like he was taking advantage of it now.

"Ray. Ray if you could only see yourself now..."

Ray groaned, and forced his head up with some effort. He had no idea how he looked, or why Fraser thought it was important to comment on it, but if he looked anything like Fraser did right now then they were onto a good thing for sure. Fraser was hot and pink, his eyes unusually bright and very, very blue. His lips were slightly parted, moist from anxious lip licking.

Fraser took pity on him and stopped stroking, just holding on so that Ray could go back to work, kissing at his partner's bare skin. Fraser shivered, and sighed, and Ray could feel - and smell, honestly - the arousal rising in him. 

"Ray please--"

"Unwrap my present? Yeah, Fraser, I got it."

That being able to communicate on another level thing really helped, it turned out, because he could measure Fraser's neediness in the sound of his voice. He was straining so hard against his jeans that Ray had to take care not to catch him in the teeth of his fly. Fraser let out a glorious sigh of relief, and Ray groaned in reciprocation--well, mostly reciprocation, and just a little bit of arousal because Fraser's erection was a thing of genuine beauty. 

Ray didn't know what to do with it, really, so he leant down and licked it, and Fraser made a dying caribou noise.

"Ray!"

"Yeah, I know. You're gonna go."

Fraser nodded mutely, which of course Ray couldn't see, but it didn't matter, he'd gotten the idea already. Sex like he imagined it in his head was probably out of the question. It was already way too complicated for this late on Christmas morning. 

Fraser was a guy, though, which meant that he could get away with the kind of hot and heavy that Stella would never have been impressed by--especially not straight after one of them had showered. Grinning, Ray helped Fraser the rest of the way out of his clothes, then pulled himself up to Fraser's level, laying out across him like a warm, Ray-shaped blanket with his erection pressed comfortably into Fraser's hard stomach.

"You good?" Fraser nodded, and Ray rewarded him with a kiss.

"We're not going to--?"

Ray stroked a circle against Fraser's hip. "You kidding? What're we gonna do with the rest of Christmas Day if we do that first? Besides--" He concentrated on rolling his own hips, and Fraser groaned. "--This is pretty good too, right?"

"Y-yes, Ray."

He'd barely moved and already Fraser was turning to jelly underneath him. In fact it didn't take nearly long enough. After a dozen more thrusts, Fraser was keening and arching beneath him, damp with sweat as though he too were dying from some overly-aggessive childhood illness. 

Where arousal sometimes made people look brutally animalistic, even ugly, it seemed to be the opposite with Fraser. Heat and sweat made him shine like the sun setting on snowy mountains, and when he at last came, his mouth opened into a little oh, and his black eyelashes fluttered against his cheek in time with the pulsing of his orgasm.

It was almost too easy after that. Ray had something to move into, and Fraser was holding onto him like he was a life preserver and they were lost at sea. Fraser's blunt nails dug hard into his buttocks, and then Ray was coming too, tumbling back into the white noise and pounding rush of his own thundering heartbeat.

They came to rest on a cloud together, the apartment forgotten.

"Ray?"

Ray was half asleep already, but he picked up his head and blinked at his partner. "Yes Fraser?"

"What brought this on?"

Ray paused for a moment, and thought - which took extra effort considering the circumstances - then managed a half shrug. It'd take too long to explain the whole Christmas Carol talking wolf thing. 

Just before he fell asleep, though, so Fraser couldn't quiz him about its meaning, he blurted out a half-formed answer. He was tired, and happy, and it made sense in his own head so what did it matter?

"The wolf gets a Christmas Wish too, you know?" 

"Oh?"

"And wolves always get what they want for Christmas, Fraser. You know that."

"Oh," said Fraser, and wrapped an arm around Ray as he snuggled closer. "Diefenbaker wished for this?"

"Well you know the furry little guy," Ray murmured. "He tells me things."

Fraser was smiling, and so Ray smiled too, and closed his eyes, and slept.

At the door, Diefenbaker licked his nose, curled up, and whispered into his tail. "God bless us, every one."

 

_The End_


End file.
